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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790539">I cross over borders (but I'm still there now)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieTheMouse/pseuds/AnnieTheMouse'>AnnieTheMouse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:01:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieTheMouse/pseuds/AnnieTheMouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When it was all over, and Geralt of Rivia had stopped overturning his life - leaving to lick his wounds in private and spend some time reconnecting with Ciri - Vernon Roche returned home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Vernon Roche, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When it was all over, and Geralt of Rivia had stopped overturning his life - leaving to lick his wounds in private and spend some time reconnecting with Ciri - Vernon Roche returned home.</p><p>Well, not to his home, exactly.  His home was probably in disarray, as he doubted the lack of a King and then the brute force of invasion would treat well a Palace and its small city of supporting buildings, of which his barracks had been a part of. But to Temeria, again to be Temeria.  To La Valette castle, which yet again secreted away the future of his country.</p><p>He was overly quiet during the trip, he knew it.  His men didn’t comment, Ves didn’t comment, but he saw the side looks he was given as he kept himself apart. He could not relax, for his heart seemed weighed down with blood. Two kings had died by his hand. Three, he would count on the worst days, because wasn’t Foltest’s blood his as well?  </p><p>At least with Henselt, no one could completely confirm that was on him other than the Witcher. There were suspicions he knew. It would be impossible for there not to be suspicions, bu none could point the finger at him other than Geralt.   Radovid though - that people knew. Important people.  And even if he did it for Temeria, what would Temeria be able to trust about him again?  No, he knew what awaited him at La Valette castle and it was not a heroes welcome.</p><p>He spends the silence deciding what to do, what to say. How to say it.   When they arrive at La Valette, welcomed in instead of repelled at the walls, he is ready for them to separate him from his men - carefully and subtly - though Ves remains stuck to his side like a burr.  His men are taken away for food, rest, to be brought back into the fold of the army.  He and Ves alone continue along to the keep, to the makeshift throne room that now exists here because the Queen exists here.</p><p>Anais sits too small in the chair they give her, but she sits straight and her head no longer drops to her chest in fear and shyness.  <em>Good for her</em>, Roche thinks with pride.  Her clothing is luxurious, but more practical than the ornate robes her mother, who stands at one shoulder, favours.  And oh, a slight shock runs through him at noting the dagger set in her belt.  He had not thought to still see it there, a gift given to a scared child to show her she could protect herself.  The part of his mind that has been calculating how to handle this very moment for weeks adds that to the points in his favour.</p><p>The dour face of John Natalis at her other shoulder counters that favour though, he figures.  He respects Natalis. He knows Natalis.  He knows Roche is a risk any good, military man, could not allow anymore.  All that in mind, Vernon moves forward, leaving Ves at the door, and kneels at the foot of the stairs leading up to her throne.  His head bows to his queen, to his hope, to his Temeria, and he waits.</p><p>Her voice is so high, so young.  “You return, Vernon Roche.  What news do you bring from the front?”</p><p>She knows what news.  Or at least Natalis does, who coaches her words with a whisper.  He made sure the documents were signed and confirmed and safely to the Temerian crown via Thaler before he ever considered leaving the front and abandoning the rebellion that Emrys had despaired of.  But this is formal, and to be expected.</p><p>“The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of his Enemies has agreed to your terms, your highness.  Temeria will remain.”</p><p>He watches, out of the corner of his eye, as she nods stiffly, still on a script that was prepared for her that lets her claim his terms as her own.  “This is well done.  We shall prepare our ambassadors immediately.  Is there anything you desire for this act of service?”</p><p>He knows what the answer is supposed to be.  It’s an answer he gave his king so many times.  Nothing but the King’s will.  Nothing but the favour of Temeria.  And if it was only his fate at stake, he would bend, and respond as he should.  But he can feel Ves’s eyes on him, he can still feel his men’s eyes on him, and they will not suffer for his crime.</p><p>“I would ask to be released from my role with the Blue Stripes.  My Lieutenant is more than ready to assume her command, and I wish not to stand in her way”</p><p>He watches from hooded eyes as Natalis’s hand dips to her shoulder, ignoring the glare he can feel scratching at his shoulder blades from Ves at springing this on her.  This comes down to honor. He sacrifices his for his men, for Ves.  Natalis is a man of honor, and there is no proof of anyone’s involvement in the regicide but his own.  If he’s read the man right, Natalis - and therefore Anais - should let him separate his stain from the Stripes and let them continue with the lives they deserve.</p><p>Natalis’s whisper is indistinguishable from this distance, and Anais’s royal tone wavers a bit now with no prepared script to guide her as she repeats those muttered words.  “Then this shall be done, and your Lieutenant to be commended.”  Her gaze raises above his head and the words are a bit more strong, a bit more warm now - he can only hope brought on by the memory of Ves’s kindness during the rough, hard trek to the castle after Loc Muinne.  “Congratulations, Commander.”</p><p>The words being said to someone else do not hurt as much as he had thought they were.  Ves was strong, capable, and smart.  She would be better for the Blue Stripes in the long run than Roche, worn down and conflicted.</p><p>“Thank you, your majesty.”  He hides the roughness in his voice as well as he can before he continues.  “That is all I wish.  Otherwise, I will continue to serve as you desire, for the favour of Temeria.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect a response so quickly, Anais’s voice stronger than it has been, less polished but sure.  “Then you shall be the Queen’s Guard, and serve faithfully.”  Roche’s head snaps up, decorum forgotten, to meet dancing eyes in a smiling face, glance shooting further up to quickly check the expressions on Natalis - stoic but eyes unnaturally wide - and the duchess - more obvious shock and a tinge of anger.  “Your majesty?”  He had prepared no counter for this.</p><p>“Your Majesty” Natalis’s voice is a low rumble but no longer whispering, echoing his concern.</p><p>“Vernon Roche served Temeria by saving me from a sorcerer’s clutches, and returned me to my throne.  He has been my guard in all but name, so what is the difference?” Anais responds, and the quickness of her response gives him pause.  Has she been calculating, planning, since she was given her script just as he had his?  Was the cleverness that had kept Foltest strong amongst the Northern Realms also in his heir?</p><p>In the end, there is only one thing to say, even as it may damn him to Natalis and the Duchess. There was only one thing to say for Temeria. For her.</p><p>“As her majesty wishes”.</p><p>***</p><p>It wasn’t quite that easy admittedly.  Once behind the scenes, away from the throne room, both Natalis and the duchess had their own arguments against what she had chosen. Roche wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried that she ignored them.  His checkered past.  Her need to not be in her father’s shadow.  His rebellion against Nilfgaard and their need for good relations.  And finally, the royal blood on his hands.</p><p>“They have a point, your majesty” he finally spoke up in response to that latest sally.  “You should not dirty your hands with my sins.”</p><p>“And the alternative is to look like I knew nothing about this and all of it was done without my knowledge” Anais responded, her chin now held higher than he’d ever seen, defiant, and oh he definitely recognized that glint in the eye, had followed it in an older face before.  “Which is a better option? That I am an ignorant child? They already will judge me on my age.”  She met his eyes, and what he sees there fills him with hope- for Temeria and for himself.</p><p>“Would you harm me, Vernon Roche?”  Her hand rests on her knife as she asks. His knife. His life in her hands.</p><p>“Never, your majesty”.  There is no hiding the truth in his voice, and she nods.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roche knocked at the door, a quick triple rap, like he had done nearly every day for the past two years.  The lady’s maid that opened it nodded and let him pass, which meant today Anais was ready on time. Of course, it was a special day, so it was to be expected.  Their normal routine would be lessons in the morning followed by an audience with the nobles or any petitioners, followed by learning about military strategy and then sparring training, which he was honored to be able to run.  Their queen would not be defenseless even without him by her side - by her own decree.</p><p>There was no room for any of that today though.  An ambassadorial envoy from Nilfgaard had arrived, and a formal audience requested. Temeria may be free, but there are prices to be paid for that which he sometimes regrets.  Prices that lay not on his head, despite his involvement, but on his queen’s.</p><p>And Queen she truly was, as she exited into the antechamber where he waited.  The silver gown far more formal than her normal garb, embroidered heavily with a pattern of Temerian lilies, and on her head no dainty tiara, but a heavy, solid crown like the type that Foltest himself had favored.  Not the same crown, too large for Anais’s still young frame, but even though he knew the weight still would be considerable, her head didn’t wobble and her chin remained high.</p><p>Even the blade at her waist that she still refused to remove had been given a scabbard that glittered with blue jewels and disguised the plain, utilitarian, soldier’s blade that hid within.  She asks him regularly to tell her stories about it. Though he refuses, the sight of it always calms him, a visible reminder of his oath.</p><p>"Your majesty” he stated, bowing his head, as he did every day.</p><p>“Anais” she reminded him, again as every day, before breaking slightly, showing a bit of the girl who had become less and less visible over the years, the shy cautious girl he’d coaxed out of that cell while Dethmold’s blood still stained his boots.  “Do you think this is good enough for Nilfgaard?”</p><p>“More than they deserve” he swore, and with that the bright smile he’d come to treasure from the moment she’d used it to save him returned, before she schooled her features again to let him step to the side and behind her, her shadow as she left her rooms and headed to the council room.</p><p>Roche remained quiet on the walk over. He had an inkling, deep in his gut, that something was going to change, but it was nothing that he felt comfortable speaking of.  It reminded him of the feeling he’d had when he’d stared into a Witcher’s eyes and made the decision to free him. On his worst days, he still was not completely sure if he’d saved or ruined Temeria by following that instinct.</p><p>If he’d saved or ruined himself.</p><p>Not the time for introspection though. As the audience began, all attention turned to the envoy in black garb and frilled collar who stepped forward, and although Roche admittedly tuned out all the formal greetings that took an age - Nilfgaardians did like their words far too much - his adrenaline leaped as the the envoy paused and opened his scroll.</p><p>“The Emperor requests the Queen’s presence as one of Nilfgaards loyal states and allies for the formal introduction and installation of his heir, the lady Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon”.  Of all the things to come, he had not expected that.  That the girl was of the blood he had known, but he had thought she’d abandoned that for the Witcher's path.  His heart still races as the Queen formally accepts - not that there was much of an option for a vassal state - and receives the formal invitation, scroll wrapped in white silk.</p><p>Anais oh so carefully speaks the words to close this audience with all the slow measured pomp that Nilfgaard demands, but for Roche the adrenaline will not fade.</p><p>***</p><p>His room was not far from the Queen’s, but his pacing feet took him further down old familiar paths, til he came out in the fresh Vizima air near the barracks where the Blue Stripes remained, thrived under Ves’s hand and the queen’s favor.   Luck would have it that the commander in question was waiting for him.  “Roche. Was going to have to send a messenger if you didn’t show up.”</p><p>“Rumors carry that fast do they?” he said, pleased. He would have had a Stripe incognito in that type of audience too, when he was in charge.</p><p>Ves grinned. “Didn’t have to. You have a visitor. Very confused not to find you here he was. Told him I’d send you to the pub when I found you, but he said he’d wait.”</p><p>His gaze followed her gesture to a figure sitting out of sight to the side - probably best to avoid the kind of attention he tended to garner.  “Hello Roche” rumbles Geralt of Rivia, and that feeling, uncertain and overwhelming, washes over him again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He shouldn’t be surprised that Geralt’s appearance is because of where he’s headed, and who he’ll be able to see.  He shouldn’t expect anything else. The Witcher’s disaffected behavior might fool many, but he had fought and bled with this man. He had fought and bled with this man for this girl.  And he now understands, oh how he has come to understand, the care one can take for a daughter not of your blood.</p>
<p>He does not dwell - there is no real time to dwell, for a royal procession seems even more complex than organizing a rebellion.  Vernon carries the Witcher’s missive with him next to his heart all the way to Nilfgaard, where Temeria arrives proud and stately, shows its starting to be unfaded glories at banquets and celebrations, presents their queen to the emperor and the future empress.  </p>
<p>Anais plays the part, as Roche tries his best to fade into the background.  Here, after all, they know what he’s done for that glory. He would not come here, he would never come here, but for Temeria.</p>
<p>They meet technically at that banquet, but it is days later that they truly meet at the end of Anais’s self-defense lesson. The lack of fanfare that surrounds Ciri’s appearance in the garden is enough to put him off guard, by which time Anais and Ciri are already exchanging pleasantries.   But when Anais responds properly about how she’s handling her reign, Ciri does not respond formally in return.  </p>
<p>“So much expectation on your head. I know the feeling” Ciri sighs as she tosses her braid over her shoulder, and it’s not formal or royal but exasperated and wry. Anais responds to it like a flower to the sun, beaming that bright smile for a brief moment before training comes back to her, but the look they share after holds an understanding.  An understanding he is sure her advisors will attempt to exploit.</p>
<p>Especially since one had just arrived to chivvy her to her next duties and paused to watch before finally, carefully, interrupting. Ciri nods, as expected, but then not so unexpectedly, she looks at him instead. “Could I ask you a favor, Queen Anais.  May I borrow your good man here? It’s been a long time since I’ve truly sparred.”</p>
<p>Anais’s nod is instant, but Roche frowns.  “I am afraid, your imperial majesty, that I am not a good man” he begins, and the smile she gives him in response is not just wry, but razor sharp and knowing.  </p>
<p>“Good in a fight though” she parries, and he remembers fighting at her back, cannot fight with her now.  Anais leaves with her advisor and without him for once, and Ciri takes her place across from him.</p>
<p>Once settled into, the pattern was beyond familiar - a slimmer, fairer form but the training was unmistakable.  As was the gap in it; memories of a certain fist fight echoing in his brain as he parried.  Should he?  She had asked for it, he reckoned.  And it was hard to resist the move, as much instinct as anything.  Pivot, step in, flip and down. and Ciri was left sprawled out on the ground in front of him.</p>
<p>It was only after the move was completed that he truly realized what he'd done.  This was no round-housing with a Witcher, and he doubted he was imagining the prickle on the back of his neck, or the number of crossbows probably pointing at it.  For a moment he was paralyzed, waiting for someone to snap and rid the world of one Kingslayer.</p>
<p>Then her hand snaked up and yanked hard at his ankle, his distraction taking him unceremoniously to the ground (out of arrow flight at least), and she began to laugh.  “I’m admittedly out of practice, but that was pretty good” she admitted, rolling to her knees in front of him. </p>
<p>“I had a bit of an advantage” he admits. “I’ve seen that fighting style before.” She moved to her feet in front of him, offering her hand.  He could still imagine the phantom pressure of the guards' eyes, but he took it anyway, letting her pull him back up.</p>
<p>“Wait, so you did that to Geralt?”.  The smirk this time was not at all regulated.  “I’d have loved to see that.”</p>
<p>“My men certainly did” he responded, ignoring the twinge that statement gave him, those men only days later dead and gone.  For him, not for Temeria, forever his crime.  But they are long beyond his aid. Gerald isn’t.  “Speaking of G…”</p>
<p>Her hand raises, pausing him mid-word.  “Another time” she speaks, and her meaning is clear (he's not the only one who feels the eyes), before she turns on her heel and leaves him in the gardens.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It is hard to sleep in his chambers. Hard enough at home, where his room still feels too fancy for the likes of him.  But here Nilfgaard takes things to another level, ostentatious yet somehow also austere, bringing a chill in the air he didn’t expect this far south.  It is why the crack of light and magic has his sword in his hand immediately, though he uncoils a bit when Ciri appears from the portal.  In white tunic and grey trousers she looks the girl who sat and laughed with Witchers and soldiers, not the empress to be.</p>
<p>“I know you intended that we should talk in private but this might be taking it a bit far?” He asks instead, forcing his fingers to release steel.</p>
<p>Her face is impatient though, no royalty left in it as her hand reaches out greedily, and when she grabs the letter and drops down in his chair, his room seems lot less cold.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It becomes a thing. When he can’t sleep, when he’s restless from being stuck in luxury and stuck in one spot and having to be polite and diplomatic and oh so formal,  those are the nights she appears in his chamber. </p><p>And it's many nights, after days of standing behind Anais’s shoulder as her advisors lead her through talks, alliances, plans.  With her, not just for her, they are leading Temeria back into strength, into something he’d never dreamed it could be again.   She’s growing, she’s blossoming in ways he could have never imagined, and her hand rests less on that dagger and more carefully folded in her lap and he’s starting to see that cleverness even more in her words and decisions.  In decisions far more important than protecting his bloody hands.</p><p>Ciri is there as well. Her words are also her own, though obviously tempered by where she is, by whose side she sits at. Not tempered as much as he had expected with the White Flame's gaze on her though. He’s surprised at first how carefully she dances within the lines to make her own way, to get her own way - but then Roche remembers the elegance of her cutting through the enemies at Kaer Morhan and it suddenly makes sense.  </p><p>There is a change for the future of Temeria in Anais’s steps forward, but there is change for the future of the world in Ciri’s confident gaze.</p><p>He knows how proud Geralt would be, so when she appears in his room, the White Wolf is where their discussions start. In place of being able to deliver the man himself, Vernon delivers stories of his times with the Witcher, and she drags out stories he’s partially forgotten, asks him for details he didn’t even think he’d remember, eager to hear everything. </p><p>Ciri seems to like his queen, so he tells her about Anais’s rescue.  How Geralt had saved him, kept him from surrendering his queen to Radovid.  Tells her of the dagger by Anais’s side, a promise.  Of Temeria, oh his Temeria, to which he has given his all.</p><p>They trade stories back and forth, each tale leading straight into another, topics blurring into another, and it’s like his relationship with Ves, except he doesn’t have to remember to be appropriate, to step back because she reports to him, to step her back because she reports to him. So of course he then tells her about Ves, because they remind him of each other, both deadly and unwilling to back down. </p><p>He goes one story too far though when he tells Ciri about catching Ves and Geralt together.  Roche stutters to a stop mid-sentence as he sees a glint in her eye and his mind fully recognizes too late who he is telling this story to. He's not sure what most puts him off-kilter talking to her about it- the topic or the people involved - but he thinks he's changed the topic in time.  Until days before their departure, when instead of sitting in the chair as usual, she deposits herself on his bed.  On him.  And there is no mistaking her intent.</p><p>“This is a bad idea. I’m not even sure which of your fathers I’m more scared of, but it’s definitely a close race…” he babbles as she straddles his waist.</p><p>“I don’t see why. It’s not like I’m in love with you or you with me” she points out as her fingers work at his top button.  “But it’s incredibly rare to find someone I can trust, and it’s been too damn long since I’ve had a man between my legs”.  Those legs squeeze around him and he really shouldn’t he is the worst but she is warm and dangerous and so self-assured. He knows his weaknesses.  “And given how you give all to your Temeria, I’m going to assume the same goes for you.”</p><p>She's right. She, like him, knows what it is like to be a fighter, to be a survivor, to take what you can get even if it's not perfect, to live by nothing by your wits and the people you trust at your back.  He wants that understanding more than he wants to fight, for once in his life. </p><p>And at the end, when she is finally boneless and contented underneath him, for that last pleasure soaked moment he let himself truly give into it.  Buries his face into long, silver hair and just lets go.</p><p>***</p><p>“You like my hair then?” she asks as she prepares to leave, and he doesn’t blush - he doesn’t know how anymore - but he knows his expression does something because the laugh that escapes her, while kind, holds something knowing.  Right now all his guards are down, for once, and she knows it - so he'll let her have that one. </p><p>“I don't know. After all these conversations, I don’t think that's quite the silver you prefer” she comments and he immediately regrets giving her any quarter. He doesn’t freeze like he doesn’t blush, but for a split second he cannot breathe. </p><p>The sound of the portal closing behind her sounds like an army galloping towards him. Or maybe that's just his heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ciri doesn’t appear in his room the next night, his last night, but there is a package left in his locked room when he returns to pack.  He doesn’t have time to open it before the formal audience for their departure.  </p>
<p>He tries not to feel her eyes on him as he leaves.  Judging him or being amused by him, he’s not quite sure.  Both perhaps. The moment draws out and he tenses under its weight.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have time to himself until they’ve made camp the first night.  The package is simple.  A return letter for Geralt, a letter for him, and a dagger. A soldier’s dagger, so similar to the one that he’d given away.   Except the symbol on the pommel, circled with delicate strands of braided silver, is not, for the first time since he’s learned to wield a dagger, a Temerian lily.  Far too fine a decoration for such a soldier’s dagger in form, for the simple yet strong scabbard it sits in.</p>
<p>He reads the note, her logic for giving the dagger unsettling him worse than the knife itself.  Reads it all over, and re-reads the end. <em>Trust in me. You have given everything to Temeria.  You deserve to give something to yourself now. </em></p>
<p>As their slow ride back to Temeria continues, he reads it again.  Her words seem so impossible they dwell in his every thought. And because of that, this time when Anais asks for stories of her dagger one evening, he tells her of the Blue Stripes. Tells her about the Ciri he met long before the palace - perhaps knowledge also to be useful for negotiations with Nilfgaard, but mainly to tell her of her strength and how Anais reminds him of it. Tells her about the Witcher that brought them together, the man who helped save her.</p>
<p>He reads it once more, sitting on his cot, remembering not the last time with Ciri, but the time before then, in Kaer Morhen.  A daughter of royal blood, and yet also of a uncommon man who did nothing more than try and save her before finally being able to let her go.  </p>
<p>Roche knows there are many things he is not good at, but the worst he assumes is the ability to let something go. A grudge, an oath, it did not matter, good or bad he has never let things go.</p>
<p>But the fact that it’s possible truly hits him as the processional enters Temeria's capital again. Anais is safe as he can make her, he realizes, and that is not based on him being her shadow.  He has never given in, and now she will never give in, Roche is sure of that, sure in his bones - and perhaps he can’t predict another Kingslayer, but she understands that risk better than her father’s assured arrogance ever could, and he can’t blame himself for Foltest’s blood anymore.</p>
<p>Can’t blame himself for murdering the others, not truly, though for a different reason. Neither of them would have let Temeria be, neither of them would have rested til Anais was married, cowed, or dead. The blood on his hands is worth never seeing her so vulnerable again. </p>
<p>Now Temeria is safe.  It still seems impossible, but it’s here, living and breathing, in the crowd that welcomes Anais back, at the lilies on their blue field that fly from nearly every building they pass as the sound of the anthem rises in the air.  Flags he knows were still here when Temeria technically wasn’t, hidden in attics and rooms and waiting for their chance to return.</p>
<p>Even when the flags couldn't fly, his land survived.  Waiting for a leader, a future, for hope. For this.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>He tells Anais what he has come to understand the next day.  In private, away from the advisors. He tells her that not to balance out what he’s about to ask of her but because Roche feels she deserves to know.  She gives him leave, but there is no doubt in her words, in that voice that is not as high anymore but still so strong, that he will return to her. To Temeria.</p>
<p>He goes to find Ves, to find the - her - Blue Stripes. To ask her to watch out for Anais, to help him fulfill his oath still.  She laughs at him, tells him the Court has already reached out to the Stripes (oh but his queen is clever).  Winks at his astonishment and toasts him with her tankard when he can’t help but laugh.  Toasts him, drinks with him, and lets him go.</p>
<p>They all let him go, and for the first time in his life, his world doesn’t overturn as he turns his back on his responsibilities, on Temeria, and rides away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He tells himself he’s wandering, being free for once, but finds himself in White Orchard before too long.  He doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t expect anything truly, but when he checks in at the Inn they tell him that yes, that Witcher keeps a cabin here since the war.  That he’s out on a hunt right now, that they don’t know when he’s back, but he’s normally in every few months.</p><p>He’s never spent coin on much, but he spends it on a room here.  When doing nothing but helping the villagers by the day and drinking by night starts to wane, he looks at the letters in the pocket, one opened one not, and makes it through another day.  He has two promises to keep, after all.  Three, if he counts the one to himself.</p><p>It takes a month before the familiar form of the White Wolf wanders into the inn for a drink.  It takes barely a minute before he realizes Roche is there.  Half an hour and one drink later he finds himself following Geralt back to his cabin.</p><p>He understands the eagerness, as he knows the letter that waits in his pocket is one of the reasons Geralt showed up to find him before he went to Nilfgaard.  The Witcher is working so hard to not interfere, but craving too much to be there for her.   Roche has come to know that feeling, so he doesn’t make Geralt wait too much before taking the sealed letter from Ciri out of his bag and handing it over.  Taking a deep pull off the wineskin in his hand as the other man begins to read.</p><p>Geralt takes his time, bright eyes slowly perusing the letter, pausing, savoring the contact.  It makes Roche’s heart contract a little, making him take another deep pull off the wineskin to hide the response.  He doesn’t know what’s in the letter, but he’s expecting there’s something in there that will come back to him, and sure enough, a few long moments later those eyes scan up to peer at him where he leans up against the wall.</p><p>“She says to not give you a hard time” Gerald rumbles, eyebrow raised as he looks up at Vernon, and Vernon doesn’t freeze, not this time either, but he’s very tempted.  “What’s that about Roche?”</p><p>“Well, two possibilities” he begins, and oh his heart pounds in his ears.  “The first possibility is that we … lay together”.  Not the wording he had ever used, not the wording he’d used to describe Geralt and Ves, but he won’t risk that, not here, not with the Witcher’s gold eyes boring into his soul at his statement.</p><p>“And the second?” It’s a growl.  Vernon is not sure if he’s been given a reprieve, or if this is even worse (it feels even worse) but he puts the wineskin aside and reaches into his coat. Pulls out his letter, obviously written by the same hand, worn and folded from countless reads.  Hands it over, and lets Ciri speak for him.</p><p>Geralt loves Ciri, after all, and he has some self preservation left.  Geralt loves Ciri, and maybe if all else fails and she was wrong - they both were wrong - that will save him.  Or so he tells himself as he watches those piercing eyes race over the lines, then pause and slowly pass over them a second time.</p><p>Roche waits, quietly.  He knows the words by heart by now. Has cursed Ciri for them, has adored Ciri for them.  Roche waits because he can do nothing else, remaining still as Geralt moves towards him, still as the Witcher’s hand reaches out towards him and pulls the dagger from his belt. </p><p>Lets himself breathe finally as Geralt flips it to look at the pommel.  It was done now and there was no going back.  Nothing left to do but match those watching, measuring eyes stare for stare. The moment draws out and he stays relaxed, throat bared to the knife. His knife. His life in his hands.</p><p>Except the hand at his throat is not the one with the dagger, instead grabbing at his collar to pull him in, and for once in his life it takes no time for Roche to give into it.</p><p>****</p><p>Geralt’s letter he learns about after. Much after.  A plan for a state visit to Temeria, a chance for Geralt to stop being stubborn and meet Ciri away from Emrys. There seems to be no doubt in her words or Geralt’s reading that Roche would eventually return to his oath, to serve Temeria.  And that when he does he won’t be alone.</p><p>The scarred chest lying underneath his head shifts as his Witcher reaches out for the dagger left haphazardly on the table nearby, pulling it closer, peering at it.  “It’s nice work”  he rumbles, breath warm against Roche's ear. </p><p>And as it’s all beginning, with Geralt of Rivia to never stop overturning his life - even now making his heart jump as he runs a finger along the wolf’s head encircled in silver - Vernon Roche was home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fini - but I will probably do an epilogue with the letters.  </p><p>Well, once I stop obsessing over every single word. Not sure why they're in a way harder to write than the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Epilogue - Letters from the proto-empress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Roche’s letter - short, but effective.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Roche,</p>
<p>I am sorry, but I wasn’t sure if you really knew your own heart.  The way you reacted was what I needed to be sure.</p>
<p>Your old dagger was decorated with what you loved first.<br/>
I thought you deserved another that represented what you love now. Take it as an apology. Or a suggestion.</p>
<p>Do you think the White Wolf gets involved in politics for just anyone?<br/>
Kills kings for just anyone?<br/>
Leaves his supposed loves in peril, leaves himself in peril, for just anyone?</p>
<p>I saw you both. Trust in him. Trust in me.</p>
<p>You have given everything to Temeria. You deserve to give something to yourself now.</p>
<p>Ciri</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The PS at the end of Ciri’s letter to Geralt, after talking about her new life and asking after his.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>P.S.</p>
<p>This has gone on long enough. I know you think you are protecting me, but I can protect myself. I learned that from you.</p>
<p>I am planning a state visit to Temeria. Anais is worth the support, and I prefer to take alliances where I can stand the person.  I am sure you can find a reason to be there when Emrys won’t.</p>
<p>You will find a reason to be there. I have a feeling.</p>
<p>Talk to Roche. Please. And don’t give him a hard time - I think he’s done that to himself enough. You’re a lot alike in a way.</p>
<p>Please let yourself be happy. Let him be happy. And be there when I come, or I’ll track you down myself - court or no court.</p>
<p>Ciri</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you all enjoyed my first foray back into fanfiction for years. It was nice to be able to get this out of my head after my latest replay.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A friend of mine pointed out that if there was ever a song that embodied Vernon Roche, it would be Anthem (from Chess). It wouldn't let me go.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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